


Catbread Behind the Wheel

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [22]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the going gets tough, Nick gets going.  Luckily, Quinlan isn't sentimental about his car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread Behind the Wheel

**Author's Note:**

> For Valis2, who just can't get enough.

By the first of November, the world had moved on and no one was particularly interested in the famous computer geek or his ex-cop lover. They still got the occasional dirty look in the grocery store, and during the worst of the media storm, someone had spray painted _faggot_ on the backyard fence and it took Quinlan a day to repaint, but that was as bad as it got. Jane and Deb from next door came over a few times, and Murray was glad to count them among his friends, although Quinlan found them a little bit boring. Since he'd been with Murray, it took a lot more to hold his interest.

He was able to maintain a casual friendship with several of his former colleagues, though, and sometimes went out for a few beers with Markus, or Hendricks, who had once seemed so threatening but turned out to be a good guy. Murray never felt really comfortable with Quinlan's friends and he tended to stay home and work, or go down to the pier to see Nick and Cody on those nights. Sometimes there was a little nip in the air, but they often put on their jackets and sat on the fantail, pretending for a little while that Murray still lived there. They were happy with the way things had turned out, Murray loved his life and his friends were happy for him, but it was nice to revisit the old days, too, and pretend that things didn't have to change.

This was one of those nights. It was Captain Lang's birthday and Quinlan had been invited to a surprise party at someone's home. Murray could have gone; he was invited and everyone else would take their spouses and significant others, but he feared making things awkward for an otherwise tight-knit group. Quinlan said that people asked after him, that he was missed by the few cops he'd gotten to know, but Murray doubted they missed him much. He preferred to spend the evening with his friends, watching the sunset and playing Scrabble when the chill drove them inside, nursing a single beer all night so he'd be sure of winning.

"We should be playing Yahtzee," Nick complained good-naturedly when Murray played _tongue_ on a triple world score. "I'm better at that."

"No you're not," Cody grinned. "Murray kicks our asses every time and you know it."

"Maybe, but I'm still better at it."

"He's right, Cody. Nick's better at almost anything, really." Murray ducked as Nick winged a blank tile at him, and then picked it up with a happy chuckle. "Thanks, Nick. I needed one of these," he said and used it as an _a_ in _quarks_.

"Damn it," Nick muttered and Murray had the grace to feel a little bit bad.

"Did we get paid for the wrecking yard job?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, I've got the check in my wallet," Cody said. "Wilkins was so happy to have it solved, he said he'd call us before the police next time."

"I'm glad Ted's not around to hear you say that," Murray laughed. "But they couldn't have cracked it without sitting on the yard all night for a week, and cops can't afford to do that."

After a week's surveillance, the detectives had spotted the alleged thief and recorded his activities in the wrecking yard. He was stealing a few car parts, but that was just a cover for what he was really doing when he cut the fences and drugged the dogs. Murray's carefully placed low-light cameras had caught him burying things under one car and digging things out from under another, and when Nick took him down in the street, he was discovered to have a pocket full of gold jewelry. The police thanked them for accidentally solving the string of beach house robberies, which had been a higher priority than wrecking yard break-ins, and Quinlan said privately that one of the best things about not being a cop was that he no longer had to share in the department's humiliation when Murray beat them at their own game.

"There's another job lined up for tomorrow," Nick said. "It's not going to require any fancy computer work, but if LT's free, we could maybe use some muscle."

"I think so. Why, what is it?" he asked absently, turning Nick's _cut_ into _acutely_.

"Debt collection. I hate those kinds of jobs, but the guy's offering the regular three hundred, plus half of whatever we collect."

"Half? It must be a lot of money."

"It is," Cody said. "In fact, if you wanted to, you might check out some of his debtors before we start. He left us a bunch of bounced checks, but the addresses on them might not be good by now."

"Sure, I can do that tonight. Who is it?"

"Charley Fields," Nick said. "The guy I buy my helicopter parts from. He can afford to offer us half the take, since he'll be getting most of my share back."

"Probably mine, too," Cody sighed in mock disgust.

"Gosh, is _Mimi_ okay? Do you need a—a loan?"

"No, man, she's fine. I was just kidding."

"Oh. Because you can always ask, you know."

"Yeah, I know. It's okay, though."

"When did you get so rich, Boz? Ted's not working and we're not exactly raking in a fortune here lately."

"Oh, I sold that new mini-cam I've been working on. The one with the audio pick-up. We're hoping we can live on that and save his severance to start a business."

"Really?" Cody said, not disbelieving. "He still wants to do that after all the publicity?"

"Well, it's dying down pretty fast. We expect that by the time he figures out what he wants to do, it'll all be over."

"You know, I've been hearing that Andy Parker wants to sell the hobby shop," Nick said thoughtfully. "His dad passed away and he wants to move up to Sacramento to be closer to his mom. You think LT would be interested in something like that?"

"I don't know," he said, rather hopefully. "I like that store a lot. He has all these tiny model building tools that are so handy for working with miniature electronics. The last time I was there, he was getting into more scientific toys, too. Microscopes and Ant Farms and things for the junior scientist. I'd like to encourage those kinds of hobbies if I could."

"Ted did say you'd be his partner."

"Yes, but it would be his business. I don't know if he's really interested in that kind of thing, but if Andy really needs to leave town, he might be willing to make us a good deal." As he spoke, he laid out the last of his tiles, filling in empty spaces between words and using existing letters to spell _mechanically_, and suddenly the game was over.

"Son of a _bitch_," Nick muttered and Cody patted his arm.

"Don't worry, babe. We'll play Yahtzee next time."

"Yes, next time," Murray said, tallying up the points. He didn't bother to share the totals, just left the notepad on the table as he stood and put on his sweater.

"You want a ride home?" Cody asked.

"No, thanks. The walk will do me good. I've been spending way too much time lately sitting around. Goodnight, guys. Thanks for the game."

Cody walked him up to the street anyway, not quite trusting Murray to get there without falling in the harbor as he'd done so many times. If Murray knew that was the reason, he didn't object. He still liked to be looked after just a little.

The evening was nippy and he walked home quickly, looking forward to hot chocolate and a warm bed, with a warm lieutenant to share it with. But when he got there, he found a message on the answering machine saying there was a problem with the programming work he'd done for a local company. Murray hated bugs with a passion, feeling a personal humiliation over each one, and all other thoughts left his mind as he went to the office and started running code. After what he'd been paid for the job, he felt obligated to have some answers when he returned their call in the morning.

***

It was after eleven when Quinlan got home, feeling a little guilty for being so late and expecting to find Murray asleep. He was surprised to see a light shining under the office door and opened it quietly, thinking Murray must have gone to sleep on his keyboard again. But what he saw was a harried looking programmer typing away, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his desk cluttered with pop cans and empty coffee cups. Murray always forgot to take the old ones back to refill them, and after a couple of days, every cup in the house would be in this room.

"What are you still doing up, kid?"

"OMI Resources is having problems with the system I set up for them. I'm running the code to see how many problems I can spot before I go over there tomorrow." He had a printout on the desk beside him, in the one spot not filled with beverage containers, and was making obscure notes on the already obscure text.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, I should really look into this as soon as possible. The guys have a job for us, too, and they're hoping you can come along. I'll go over to OMI early in the morning, and if I get enough done tonight, I should be finished there by noon."

"What kind of a job would you need me for?"

Murray explained what he knew about Charley Fields and his fifteen thousand dollars in assorted bad checks, and Quinlan agreed that he might be useful. He also thought, without needing to say, that it would be a lot of fun to roust deadbeat pilots and make them pay up. But Murray looked dead in his seat, and he wasn't going to be good for much if he didn't get some sleep.

"Time you went to bed now, isn't it?" he asked, gathering up cups and cans.

"I really want to finish this one little bit. It won't take more than an hour."

"No can do, kiddo. You know you just end up making more mistakes when you get tired." He took the cups to the kitchen, not really expecting to be obeyed, and sure enough, when he went back to the office, he found Murray still typing furiously. Quinlan finished clearing the desk without comment, and then stood behind him, rubbing Murray's shoulders until he turned around in impatience.

"Please, Lieutenant, I just need another hour or so. Go on to bed, I'll be along."

"Are you telling me what to do, Bozinsky?"

"Maybe just this once," he said, distracted. "Just one more hour, Lieutenant."

Quinlan took his hand and pulled him out of his chair, ignoring his strident protests.

"No more of that, kid. You know I'm right. You won't get anything done in the next hour that you won't have to undo tomorrow." He pushed Murray back against the desk and kissed him, slow and thorough. When his resistance faded, Quinlan sank into the chair and reached for Murray's fly.

"What are you doing?" he asked and immediately felt foolish. Quinlan didn't answer. He just went on undoing Murray's belt and buttons, pushing his jeans and boxers down off his bony hips. Five minutes ago Murray had felt too tired and stressed to ever want to have sex again, but he began to get hard as soon as he felt those hands on his bare skin. Quinlan bent and kissed Murray's swelling cock, bringing a sharp gasp from him. He clutched the lieutenant's shoulders, trying to push him away, and failing when the strength went out of his arms.

"You shouldn't," he whispered. "I—I have—work…"

"Fuck your work," he said, laughing against Murray's thigh.

"Right. But you shouldn't—you don't want—"

"What did I tell you about that balance of power crap?" Quinlan said shortly and took Murray's cock in his mouth. He sucked slowly, teasingly, his tongue tracing the ridges and veins, swirling gently around the head. It tasted sweet to him, and Murray's soft groans were like music.

Murray stopped protesting and wrapped his hands tightly around the back of Quinlan's neck. It wasn't right, he felt that instinctively, but that didn't stop him from bracing his feet and thrusting eagerly, crying out as gentle teeth scraped down the length of his shaft.

"Oh fuck, Ted, _fuck_," he babbled, letting go with one hand to grab the edge of the desk. He struck something without knowing what it was and sent it clattering to the floor. The hand on Quinlan's neck tightened, setting the rhythm as he thrust, taking control more completely than he ever had before. It was so good, so hot and wet and beautiful, he knew in his heart he would never refuse again, no matter how wrong it seemed. He was right on the edge when Quinlan cupped his sac and squeezed gently. Murray let go of the desk, cradled his lover's head in his broad hand, and came with a strangled scream, not even attempting to withdraw.

"Oh Ted," he sighed, shuddering with reaction, his fingers working like cat's paws as Quinlan went on sucking and licking, bringing him down. He didn't stop until Murray was completely soft and starting to shiver. Then he got to his feet and slid his arms around the narrow waist.

"Are you ready to go to bed now, kid?"

"Yeah, I guess I should. I think I'm tired for real now. But what about you? Shouldn't I—reciprocate?"

"If you want. Come to bed and give me a hand job so we can go to sleep."

"You're being awfully nice to me, Lieutenant."

"You keep being surprised by that, and it's gonna start hurting my feelings."

Murray kissed him and slid off the desk.

"I don't mean to be," he said humbly. "I'm just not used to blitz attack blow jobs."

"Not like I've never tried. I don't know what your problem is, but you need to get over it."

"I think I just did." Murray kissed him again and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth while Quinlan locked up the house. It was something of a pointless ritual. He'd locked the front door when he came home and the back door was hardly ever opened at all. The only lights on were in the bathroom and the office, but he still had to make his circuit, like a German Shepherd on patrol. He had to make sure Murray was safe.

He took his turn in the bathroom and then joined Murray in bed, where he was sitting up, the covers pooled around his waist, rubbing his scarred left arm.

"Is it hurting again?" Quinlan asked, getting in beside him.

"A little. It bothers me when I've been typing a lot. I bet it turns into one of those barometer bones that hurts in bad weather when I get old."

"Yeah, those can really come in handy. You want me to massage it for you?"

"Maybe later. I think I owe you something first."

"Never say owe. You know better than that."

"And I thought I was the literalist," Murray grinned, lying down and taking him in hand, stroking long and slow at first.

"Shit, baby, you could charge for this," Quinlan sighed and was answered with a kiss that curled his hair.

It was Murray's turn to be on top and he slipped his left hand under Quinlan's neck, holding him still, kissing him breathless as he jerked him off, swiftly now, but so skillfully that nothing was missed. It was quick and messy and more fun than two men who were that tired had any real right to expect. When it was over, Murray moved to the other side of the bed so he could lay his left arm across Quinlan's chest. The lieutenant rubbed it for him until he fell asleep.

***

Murray was up at five, rested and refreshed, sneaking through a quick shower and dressing in the bathroom so his lover didn't wake. He put the coffee on and took a cup to his office where he went right to work on the OMI program. Quinlan was right, of course. The last two screens from yesterday were as messed up as they'd been when he started, just in different ways. There was no telling how much damage he could have done if he hadn't given up and gone to bed.

By eight o'clock, he had done as much as he could at home and packed up his disks and notes to take over to OMI. Quinlan was stirring in the bedroom, so Murray started breakfast, deciding on bacon and oatmeal for ease of preparation and nutritional value. If it was an unconventional combination, he didn't know it and Quinlan wouldn't complain.

"How long've you been up?" the lieutenant muttered, wandering into the kitchen in his robe, searching for coffee.

"About three hours. You should go back to bed after breakfast. I'll be home around noon, depending on the buses."

"Don't take the bus," he yawned and sipped his coffee. It was hot and strong, just the way he liked it, made to wake a man up fast. "I'm not doing anything this morning. Take the car."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Why not? It'll be faster than waiting for buses. Just keep your mind on what you're doing, okay?"

"I will. Thanks, Lieutenant. It'll make things a lot easier for sure. But I still need to get going." He finished his coffee and kissed Quinlan goodbye. The lieutenant watched him go, smiling a little at his geeky anxiety over a mere computer problem, and then went back to bed. The coffee was strong, but he was old enough to sleep in spite of it when he wanted to.

***

The collections work went smoothly at first. Quinlan drove them in the nondescript Fairmont, Nick riding shotgun to give what directions he could and to feel at least nominally in charge. In his heart, he knew that the ex-cop could find his way around town better than any of them, but it was nice of Quinlan to let him pretend.

They caught a couple of the guys at home and one, who owed a mere hundred dollars, paid cash and wasn't too unpleasant about it. The other owed quite a bit more, and they drove him to his bank to make a withdrawal. Murray didn't like that very much. It felt almost like a hold-up, but he reminded himself that debtors had to pay. It was not an unjust expectation. The fact that the guy had the money was a real comfort to him.

It was the third deadbeat, one Dennis Burke, who gave them trouble. He was into Charley Fields for two grand and had no hope of paying, so when he saw those PIs and the ex-cop from the paper in his driveway, he didn't think they were there to ask him out. In fact, he owed quite a few people, and for all he knew they were after the full amount. It occurred to him to stay inside and not answer the door, but his car was in the drive and they wouldn't be fooled. None of the other bill collectors had been.

It was Nick who rang the doorbell, Cody leaning against the porch railing by his side, while Murray and Quinlan waited on the steps. Murray hadn't had much to do so far, but he did add to their numbers and there was no harm in that. He was aware of himself as largely superfluous, but it was a nice day and he enjoyed being with his friends on the job, being one of the guys. What he didn't enjoy was knowing that Dennis Burke was going to be a pain in the ass, one way or another, and they would be unlikely to collect from him today.

The four of them were still on the porch when Burke came flying out the back door, leapt the short garden fence around his back yard, and made for his car. Quinlan grabbed Murray and headed for the Fairmont, seeing that even Nick wouldn't be able to catch Burke before he was safely inside his run down Datsun 210. Nick didn't appear to have seen it quite that way, though, and hit the door just as it slammed shut. Burke was backing out as Quinlan shoved Murray across the front seat of the Fairmont and got behind the wheel, and no one was surprised to see Nick leap onto the hood of the Datsun, strong fingers clinging to the cowling.

"Fuck," Quinlan muttered, starting the engine. "Put your seatbelt on, kid. No telling where this'll go."

The Datsun shot out of the driveway in reverse and tried to cut a sharp turn into the street. The rear bumper hit the front of the Fairmont before it got any speed and spared Nick being flung to the pavement right then. Burke turned carefully, Cody pulling on his door handle and shouting at him to stop, but once he was pointed in the right direction, he hit the gas and took off. Cody missed the brief window of opportunity to get into the Fairmont and had to watch what happened next from the street.

Nick hung onto the cowling of the Datsun all the way to the intersection, where Burke spun the wheel hard to the right and slammed on the brakes, rolling him violently onto the sidewalk and across someone's front lawn.

"Jesus," Murray breathed, already reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt.

"Hang on," Quinlan said grimly and stomped on the gas.

"But—Nick…" he stammered, his hands accepting the inevitable before his head, and leaving the buckle to grip his shoulder harness.

"Cody'll get him," Quinlan said, and drove the Fairmont straight into the right rear quarter panel of the Datsun at nearly forty miles an hour. It spun around, propelled by the heavier car, and slammed broadside into a Chrysler New Yorker parked in the street. Murray's seatbelt locked painfully across his chest, and Quinlan, who wasn't wearing his, smacked his head on the steering wheel and lay still as the motor sputtered and died. For a long moment, everything was silent. Or maybe it just seemed that way after the impossibly loud crash.

"Lieutenant? Are you all right?" Murray cried, struggling to unfasten his seat belt. But it was thoroughly jammed and the catch wouldn't budge. "Ted, say something."

"'m okay. Go check on Nick," he mumbled without raising his head. Murray looked out the window and saw Cody kneeling on the lawn beside his fallen lover. In the other car, Dennis Burke wasn't moving either. Murray pulled out his pocket knife, a box cutter that he used for stripping wire, and sliced cleanly through the straps that held him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, even as he opened his door.

"Yeah, go."

The woman who lived in the house where Nick fetched up, and who also owned the now totaled New Yorker, was out on the lawn with a cordless phone in her hand.

"Ma'am, who are you talking to?" Murray asked, just barely resisting the urge to snatch it out of her hand.

"The police. What's going on?"

"Great. Tell them we have three injuries. And Lieutenant Quinlan's involved. Don't forget that, please."

"Quinlan," she repeated and then turned her attention back to the phone. She didn't know which one that might be, if it was one of the men in the cars, or possibly the dead man on her lawn. That he was dead she had no doubt, especially given the way the other one was carrying on. Murray went to them, but there was nothing he could do. As he turned toward the Datsun, he heard Cody's plaintive voice and his throat locked up tighter than the seatbelt he'd just cut his way out of.

"Nick, baby, wake up," Cody was saying, stroking the dark hair back from the bloody face. "Come on, Nick, open your eyes. You're so damned tough, you think you can stop a car with your bare hands, so I know you can open your eyes for me." Cody didn't care about Dennis Burke, or Murray, or Quinlan, whom he hadn't even noticed was missing yet. All he cared about was that the bold man he loved more than life itself was so deathly still, his body bent and broken. There was nothing outside this for him, no other facts that mattered.

"Nick, please," he whispered. "Please. Not now. Not like this. _Please_."

As if he'd heard, Nick opened his eyes and focused hazily on Cody's pale face.

"What—?" he choked out and tried to cough.

"Shh. Don't talk, buddy, it's okay. You're gonna be okay. Just lie still for me, please."

"What happened?" he groaned, trying to raise one hand to reach Cody's. Cody held his arm gently in place, torn between laughter and curses.

"What happened is you threw yourself on that car and Burke threw you off again. Now hold still. There's an ambulance coming."

"I'm okay. It's just my leg. Think it might be broken. And my shoulder."

"Which one, the left?"

"Yeah. Fucking hurts."

Cody felt it with gentle hands and Nick screamed.

"It's dislocated all right. I hope you're happy," he said. But Nick didn't hear. He had already passed out again. "Asshole," Cody whispered and wept without knowing it.

Murray wasn't able to get into the Datsun, sandwiched as it was between the Fairmont and the New Yorker, but he saw Burke moving inside now and figured he would keep. He went back to Quinlan, wrenching the driver's door open and crouching beside him, his knees braced against the bottom of the doorframe.

"Lieutenant, are you okay? Let me see your eyes."

He wished he had a penlight, but even without it he could see the pupils were equal and reasonably sized. There was a cut on his forehead, the flesh around it already swelling and beginning to bruise, and a trickle of blood was inching its way unchecked to the left eyebrow. Murray pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it tenderly over the wound.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No. Help me outta here. What can we do for Nick?"

"Nothing that I know of. He was awake for a minute. The lady there already called for help. You should stay put. I don't want you hurting yourself worse."

"Oh, you don't want?"

"No," Murray said, more harshly than he'd intended. He didn't like the way Quinlan was talking, or the dazed expression on his face.

"Okay, I give," he said, surrendering for Murray's sake. "What about Burke?"

"He's trapped. Why did you do it, Ted? You totaled the car; you could have killed yourself. What the hell were you doing?"

"I hadda stop him."

"But—but the job wasn't worth that much."

"It wann't about the job, genius," he slurred. "I'da let him go if it was. I hadda stop him for Nick. Couldn't let him pull a stunt like that and just drive away." He offered Murray a small smile and closed his eyes. Murray held him tight and didn't ask any more questions.

Ambulances and police cars started arriving a moment later, and Murray told Lieutenant, née Sergeant, Markus what had happened while Nick was examined and prepared for transport. Fire trucks rolled up and a crew began opening the Datsun like a tuna can in an effort to reach Dennis Burke. Quinlan was put into the first ambulance, and Murray checked with Cody one more time before climbing in with him. Cody had himself under control now, but he wasn't happy and Murray didn't blame him. There was a lot here to be unhappy about.

Nick's leg was splinted, but the paramedics didn't want to try to reduce his shoulder in the field, mostly because he was awake again, already weeping and cursing as they lifted him onto the gurney. Not even Cody could soothe him this time, and that was probably the worst part for both of them. Still, he kept trying, holding Nick's hand for as long as they'd let him, talking quietly when they made him move out of the way, keeping Nick focused on his voice as much as possible. Most importantly, he kept himself calm enough that they let him in the ambulance and he was able to stay with Nick until the inevitable separation in the ER.

Murray did a little better, having Quinlan's reputation and the police department's support to get him through, but he was still sent back to the waiting room when the lieutenant went up for a head CT. There he found Cody, sitting shell-shocked and numb in a chair in the corner, his arms wrapped around his knees, staring blankly at the wall. Murray sat down beside him and touched his shoulder gently.

"Cody? Are you okay?"

"Why'd he do it? Why would he risk his life like that for a thousand dollars?"

"I don't think he did."

"What?" Cody turned toward him, one hand over his mouth to hide his trembling lips.

"You know how Nick is. He has to win. It was a job and he—he had to finish it. He's never quit anything in his life. It didn't have anything to do with the money."

"I guess." He sighed deeply, rubbed his eyes and covered his mouth again. "I just—I need to be more important than the job. I need him to be able to let it go—for me."

"You'll have to tell him that sometime. Whether or not it will affect his behavior is another matter, of course."

Cody shot him a look and Murray blushed.

"I don't mean to be flip, Cody, but he is who he is. The man you love is the man who jumps onto the hoods of moving cars."

"I know. I just keep hoping he'll stop it someday. Stop doing such unbelievably stupid things for no good reason. I mean, who cares if Dennis Burke pays Charley Fields today or tomorrow or not at all? It's just a job. It's not worth anyone's life."

"I know that. It's the same thing Quinlan said when he quit his job."

Cody turned to him again, but the look he gave this time was different.

"That's right, you've already done this. Man, I never thought I'd see the day when I was wishing Nick was as reasonable as Ted Quinlan."

"You don't really."

"I do a little." He smiled faintly and uncurled his body partway, putting his feet on the floor but still resting his elbows on his knees. "Murray, I'm scared."

"I know. But he'll be okay. And you can keep him in bed and take care of him while his leg heals. He won't be able to escape you for weeks."

Cody laughed and it sounded a little like a sob. But it also sounded like a laugh.

"I'm being selfish, Boz. I'm sorry. How's Ted doing? And how are you? That crash looked awful."

"I think the lieutenant's all right. He wasn't wearing his seatbelt and he hit his head pretty hard, but I don't think it's too bad."

"What about you? Were you wearing your seatbelt?"

"Yeah. He—he made me put it on," Murray said, his voice trembling a little. "I think I'll have some bruises, but it could have been a lot worse. We really trashed Burke, though. I'd almost feel bad about that if it wasn't for Nick."

"I hope he's okay, just so Nick won't feel bad. You know, if he was going to."

"He might," Murray shrugged. "It would have been so much easier for Burke to just not open the door. Did he think we were going to break it down or something?"

"You never know with those guys." Cody rubbed his eyes again and finally sat up straight. "Thanks, Murray."

"For what?" he asked, surprised.

"For being here. And, you know, you made our little group a lot stronger by bringing Ted in. We've never had a guy who would sacrifice his car for us before."

"Well, it was just a Fairmont. I guess we'll have to find a new one now, though. That's not going to be fun. Maybe Jim Pritchard has another one we can buy."

"Yes, because that worked out so well last time," Cody laughed. Murray rubbed his scarred arm absently through his sleeve, but Cody, who was less familiar with the nervous gesture, didn't notice. "I guess we should call Charley and tell him the job's delayed a little."

"I'll take care of that later. I'm sure he'll understand."

"Thanks. I really appreciate you handling it, Boz. I don't think I can do anything right now."

Murray squeezed his shoulder and reminded him that Nick would be okay. It wasn't like the car had hit him. He had a broken leg, a dislocated shoulder, and some cuts and bruises, but no internal injuries. He would be sore and cranky, but he wouldn't die. Cody knew he was right, but wasn't much comforted. Nothing would comfort him until he was by Nick's side again.

***

Over his strenuous objections, Quinlan was made to stay the night in the hospital. He wasn't convinced by the doctor, or by Murray's insistence, but rather by Cody's fearful eyes and haggard expression. If Quinlan went home, Murray would go with him and Cody would be here alone with no one to sustain him except the one he was so afraid for. Quinlan thought about how Nick and Cody had been there supporting Murray before he died, and how they had supported him when Murray was sick, and it seemed to him that this was what they did in this family. People sacrificed their time and dignity and whatever else they needed to in order to keep everyone else safe and sane.

So he consented to stay on the condition that they put him in a room with Nick, to keep the family together. To make sure Cody was safe and sane, and Murray didn't have to worry alone. He hadn't thought of that last part before, but now, lying in his bed with a blinding headache and Murray holding his hand, he realized that the kid wouldn't have had a moment's peace at home. He needed doctors and nurses to share the burden or it would crush him.

Nick was in a lot of pain, but he was also receiving a lot of medication for it. He didn't have a head injury; it was only the pain, and maybe the G force, that had caused him to lose consciousness on the lawn that afternoon. He was getting morphine through his IV and was aware of very little besides Cody's nearness and the fact that he would recover, no matter what it felt like now. He guessed there was someone in the bed by the window, but that person was already there when they brought Nick in, and the curtain was pulled around the bed.

Nick wasn't terribly interested, anyway. He was only awake for a minute or two at a time and they weren't pleasant, filled as they were with pain and guilt. Better to let the morphine cloud it all. Every time he opened his eyes and saw Cody's worried face, the guilt smote him and he withdrew, but he couldn't help checking again a few minutes later. Every time he woke, he had to check and make sure Cody was there, and the sorrowing eyes burnt his soul over and over.

"Cody, man, I'm sorry," he said at last.

"I know. It's okay, Nick. Really," he lied, squeezing the hand that clutched his so desperately.

"I didn't—I guess I really messed up. I won't be able to work for a while and we didn't finish the job…" He trailed off, unable to read Cody's expression.

"Fuck the job," Cody snapped, loudly enough to wake Quinlan, who grabbed Murray's arm and signaled him to be quiet. This didn't concern them. Yet.

"You think I give a shit about the _job_? You could have been killed, you stupid son of a bitch. If you'd hit your head on the curb, or if he'd hit another car before he threw you off, you'd be dead right now. Fucking _dead_, Nick. Don't you ever _think_?"

"I—no, I guess not. It was just instinct, man. He was getting away."

"So what? What are you, a police dog? Someone runs, you gotta chase him? I've seen Dobermans with more discipline than that. _Jesus_, Nick."

"What can I say, Cody? I'm sorry, but it's not like I hurt anyone else. Aren't I paying for my mistakes already?"

"Yeah, you're paying, but you're not the only one. You probably didn't notice, being unconscious on some stranger's fucking lawn and all, but Ted trashed his car to stop that guy. He's in the next bed, Nick." Cody got up and whipped the curtain back with a flourish. Murray was embarrassed, but Quinlan just gave him a nod. The bandage on his head spoke volumes.

"Oh hell, LT. Are you okay?"

"Better than you," he said shortly. That was true in a lot of ways, really. His sacrifice had meant something and his lover wasn't angry with him.

"Murray? Are you all right?" Nick asked humbly. He remembered seeing them get into the car together and it seemed impossible that the skinny little guy had escaped unharmed when the stronger man had not.

"Yeah, I'm fine. My neck's a little sore and I have a few bruises from the seatbelt, but I'm okay."

"Never would have let you get in if I'd known I'd have to do that," Quinlan said quietly.

"You couldn't have stopped me, Lieutenant. But if I'd known, I'd have put your seatbelt on you, too." He kissed the bandaged forehead softly and Nick was ashamed, not only for putting them through that, but also for putting Cody in a position where they couldn't comfort each other in the same way.

"They're too cute for words, aren't they?" he said, smiling up at Cody. But Cody was not appeased.

"Don't you give me that look, Nick Ryder. Don't you _dare_ try and smile your way out of this. Damn it, I'm mad at you and I have every right to be."

"Yeah, you do," Nick pleaded, suddenly humble again. "But, Cody, man, I'm hurting here. I can't hardly keep my eyes open and I—I need you. Can't we fight about this later?"

There was an unhappy silence while Cody warred with himself under Nick's desperate gaze. Quinlan turned his head and Murray watched him to keep from having to witness Nick's pain. The silence was broken by Cody's soft _oh hell_, and when Murray risked a glance, he was bent awkwardly over the bed, trying to hug Nick without touching his injured shoulder.

"Close the curtain," Quinlan whispered with a grin. "You shouldn't have to see that."

***

Early the next morning, Cody took a cab home and picked up the Jimmy to collect his friends. He pushed Nick out to the parking lot in a wheelchair and eased him carefully into the front seat, then got his hands slapped trying to help Quinlan into the back.

"Hey, sorry," he laughed, backing away. He was happy for Murray in a lot of ways, but at the same time grateful not to be in his place. He still didn't know his friend put up with the old man for more than ten minutes at a time.

"Save it for the cripple," Quinlan smirked and fastened his seatbelt. Then he turned to Murray, his expression changing to one of gentle concern. "You warm enough, kid? It's chilly out here."

"Oh, yes. I'm fine. It's not far, anyway."

"No, but Cody's gonna be extra careful, isn't he?" Nick sighed. "Make sure we don't hit any little bumps on the way."

"If you won't take care of yourself, someone has to," Cody shot back and he knew he was still in trouble. It was going to be a long six weeks.

"You'll need some help at home," Quinlan said, not asking.

"With what?" Nick said petulantly.

"With you. How're you gonna get down the stairs on one leg? You can't even use crutches with that shoulder."

"I'll only have to get him down the stairs once," Cody said grimly. "Then he can stay there and think about how much he likes riding on car hoods." Cody was thinking about the time Nick had been thrown from a car in traffic and flew through the open window of a passing Mustang. If the window had been rolled up, he'd have been crushed between the two cars. If the Mustang hadn't been there, he'd have hit the pavement in a busy intersection and been crushed by something else. He wondered if Nick ever thought about those things after they happened, or if he just dusted off his hands and put it behind him. Cody was sure he'd had some memory retention during the war; he'd been good at avoiding death there.

"No," Nick said, interrupting his thoughts. "You're not gonna shut me up below decks and leave me there. Come on, I need fresh air, and food. We'll figure out the stairs."

"I'll open a porthole," Cody said bitterly. "Maybe a seagull will fly in and you can roast it over your Zippo."

"You guys could stay at our place," Murray said hesitantly and was accosted at once by three pairs of surprised blue eyes, one of them courtesy of the rearview mirror. No one quite knew what to say and then Nick broke the silence.

"No thanks, Boz. I want to go home. Even if it does mean getting stuck in the cargo hold like a third class passenger on the _Titanic_."

"It's not the cargo hold, you jerk," Cody sighed. "It's our cabin and it's always been good enough for you before."

Nick settled back huffily, prepared to abandon the argument for now, but reserving the right to take it up again later. Like as soon as they were alone.

It would have been a lot easier if Nick's injured limbs weren't both on the same side of his body. As it was, Cody supported him on his right side and Nick hopped and hobbled down the gangway, trying to keep his left foot off the ground. The only luck he seemed to have lay in it being a simple tib-fib fracture and not a more inconvenient femoral break. Still, he was weak and tired and they had to stop every four or five steps along the way to let him rest.

When they reached the stairs up to the boat, Nick had to resign his pride altogether and allow Quinlan to take his other side, and though the pain was almost unbearable, he bore it somehow. They wrestled him over the railing while Murray unlocked the door, and the three of them staggered into the salon and collapsed on the nearest bench. Nick was nearly fainting with pain, his chest and shoulder all fire and ice, and Quinlan's head hurt so badly he could hardly keep his eyes open. Cody was almost as pale as Nick, but his pain was purely sympathetic as he sat and held his lover close.

"Murray, can you get me a glass of water?" Nick asked after a long moment. "I think I ought to take my pills and go to bed."

"Sure." His dark eyes, so serious and concerned, moved from one face to another, and then he went below. When he came back, he had two glasses of water and gave one to Quinlan, who hadn't asked but was grateful nonetheless. After Nick swallowed the pills, they had to get up and start moving. If he got sleepy or clumsy they would never get him down the stairs.

It was hard enough as it was.

Everyone was sweating and frustrated and Nick was nearly in tears by the time they got him into bed. And that was just on top of the covers, with his clothes still on. Murray knew that even if Quinlan offered more help, which he wouldn't do, it would be refused, so he offered it himself. He was refused just as surely, but a little more kindly, and Cody told him to take the Jimmy and go on home.

"Are you sure?" he asked, hesitant to accept the loan of a car. "You won't need it yourself?"

"I don't think so. I won't be going much of anywhere with Nick to look after, and if I do, I can use his car."

"That's what you think," Nick muttered. "Treat me like a goddamn infant and think I'm gonna let you drive my car."

"What do you want me to do?" Cody snapped. "I could drag your whiny ass back to the hospital if you'd prefer. Or you could sleep on the bench in the salon and schlep down here five times a day to use the head."

"Just shut up and help me get these stupid pants off." He was still a little miffed that the hospital staff had cut off his favorite jeans and didn't feel that the sweatpants they gave him constituted full restitution.

"You better just take the car, Murray. We'll be fine."

"If you're sure," he wavered, wanting to leave and not quite convinced it was a good idea.

"Yes, he's sure," Nick shouted. "Just get out already."

Murray turned and fled, forgetting even to ask for the keys. Nick was immediately ashamed, but it was too late to call him back. For a few seconds, no one quite knew what to do, and then Quinlan leaned over the bed.

"I'm gonna let that go because you're having a shitty day. But when you're feeling better, you're gonna apologize." Nick nodded and he straightened up, turning away in the same motion. "Cody, I wish you luck." He took the keys that the other man offered and went up after Murray.

"I wish you hadn't done that," Cody said quietly.

"Oh, fuck off," Nick said and regretted it instantly. "Wait, I'm sorry. Cody, man, I'm sorry. I just—I hate this so much. I got my own stupid self hurt and everybody's paying for it and it's making me mean. And that's not right, either, getting mean when it's all my fault."

"You always get mean when you embarrass yourself. I know that, and so does Murray."

"Yeah, well, I'll call him later and apologize. But, Cody, what are we going to do? Really? I can't lay here for six weeks."

"It won't be that long. The doctor said you could be using crutches in three or four weeks, when your shoulder's better. And with your stubborn refusal to listen to reason, that might be as little as two."

"Still, two weeks…I'll go crazy."

Cody began undressing him, pulling his pants off first with many a lingering caress.

"I don't know, babe. I think I can figure out how to keep you entertained." He eased the shoulder stabilizer off and removed Nick's shirt, then put the stabilizer back on. His hands were gentle, his touch efficient but sensuous. Nick was almost purring, and the sound changed to a low groan when Cody knelt and kissed his chest. His good right hand wound its way into Cody's hair and he sighed with something very like relief. Nick was getting sleepy now and a nice leisurely blow job was just what he needed. Cody was happy to oblige.

***

Quinlan caught up with Murray by the car, expecting to find him upset. Maybe even crying. But he was just sitting behind the wheel, staring at the harbor, waiting. Quinlan suddenly thought of a record that Murray had acquired while he was gone, one that he rarely played and that Ted didn't understand at all, called _Standing on a Beach, Staring at the Sea_. It was a gift from someone; he didn't know who. The only thing about it that mattered was the title and how often Murray made him think of the wise old man on the cover.

He got in the car and tossed Murray the keys. They landed on one skinny thigh and slid down onto the seat with a muffled chink.

"You okay, kid?"

"Yeah. How's Nick?"

"He's an asshole, but he's okay. You know he didn't mean to yell at you."

"Yeah, I know. I'm just worried about him. He's going to have such a hard time, even with Cody taking care of him. I wish there was more I could do."

"I'm guessing you'll figure something out. Come on, I want to go home."

Murray picked up the keys and started the car.


End file.
